


i'll be dead before the day is done

by sleeponrooftops



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Character Death, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world is overrun by the undead, an unlikely band of misfits assemble to survive, or die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes—
> 
> i. There is one way to perfectly describe what this fic is going to be, and that’s to quote part of Robert Kirkman’s introduction to _The Walking Dead_ :
> 
> “For me, the worst part of every zombie movie is the end. I always want to know what happens next. Even when all the characters die at the end… I just want it to keep going. More often than not, zombie movies feel like a slice of a person’s life shown until whoever is in charge of the movie gets bored. So we get to know the character, they have an adventure and then, BOOM, as soon as things start getting good… those pesky credits start rolling. The idea behind _The Walking Dead_ is to stay with the character, in this case, Rick Grimes for as long as possible. I want _The Walking Dead_ to be a chronicle of years of Rick’s life. We will NEVER wonder what happens to Rick next, we will see it. _The Walking Dead_ will be the zombie movie that never ends.”
> 
> I’m not saying it will never end, but I am saying that I’m going to explore as much of the Avengers lives as possible while being hunted by the undead. Here we go.

They’ve been following the railroad tracks for a full day before Johnny starts complaining.  Steve’s ahead with Kennedy, their German shepherd, who is following alongside him obediently, when Johnny calls, “I just don’t understand why we had to leave base.”

 

Steve ignores him.  He’s done arguing with him—he feels like, these days, that’s all they ever do, and he just wants a moment of quiet.  He knows it’s just a coping mechanism for Johnny, that he’s just trying to accept everything by pretending to be bored, but, quite frankly, it’s starting to rub raw at Steve.  He’s not bored, he knows that, but this attitude he’s showing the world is one Steve knows will end with Johnny bleeding out, clawed to death or torn into pieces or with severe bite marks all over his body.

 

Steve pauses, draws a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

 

He has these nightmares of losing his little brother, of never hearing his fake annoyance again.

 

“Steve,” Johnny says—there it is again.

 

“Our general attacked us,” Steve says sternly before he starts walking again.

 

“Steve,” Johnny says, and this time it’s around a sigh, “Where are we going?”

 

Steve turns around this time.  He can’t ignore him because he feels like he’s 12 again, and Johnny’s seven, whining about the sand in his shorts from the beach.  “Maybe if you hadn’t rolled through the sand into the ocean, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 

“What?” Johnny says, and Steve realizes he’s spoken aloud.  It occurs to Johnny before Steve can resolve the situation, “Oh.  Right, so you’re calling me a child.”

 

“Well—”

 

“Well, nothing fucktoad.  Don’t be rude.  I’m asking a sensible question.  I want to know where we’re going, how to prepare.”

  
“Prepare what?” Steve snaps, and Johnny flinches like he’s been reprimanded by his superior.

 

Steve’s been standing still long enough that Johnny walks past him.  He doesn’t storm, he’s above that, but Kennedy follows at his heels, and that’s enough of a slap that Steve’s eyes narrow without his permission.

 

He follows after him slowly, unsure of how to proceed.  He’s never been sure with Johnny, never really quite understood how to play the part of the older brother to a reckless, wild child.  He’d mostly been apart from him after high school, even when they were both at the same base.  They only spoke when their parents came to visit, and then, when their mother had passed, Johnny would show up at his elbow during meal times occasionally, or stop by his dorm hall, or even volunteer for some of the missions he knew Steve would be leading.  It had been a strange relationship they’d had on base, one where Johnny listened to him, but was careful not to allow Steve too much control.  Steve had hated going on missions with him—he’d always felt simultaneously responsible for him and furious with him, much the same he felt now.

 

Now, when Johnny is stooped low toward the tracks and Kennedy is sitting patiently, watching his every move.  When Johnny finally straightens with a branch, Kennedy’s tail wags more eagerly, and Johnny grins at him before throwing the stick and yelping.  Kennedy goes sprinting off, and Steve swallows down a growl.

 

“Do you have to be so fucking stupid?” Steve demands as he comes near Johnny.  “Kennedy!” he shouts, but Kennedy is already turning.

 

“I didn’t throw it far enough to be out of earshot, asshole,” Johnny mutters, heading off after Kennedy, who’s making his way back to Johnny.  They meet in the middle, and continue on.  Steve sighs and takes his time, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of Johnny.  He needs to learn how to be around him, how to be his brother without also being his captain.

 

He needs to remember to be kind.

 

——

 

He is not fucking walking.

 

At least, he amends, not for long.  He’s been pushing 100 in his current car, which is built for speed, so Tony thinks he’s pretty much got it made.  He’s about an hour outside of Maine, and he feels like he’s been in the car for a fucking lifetime.

 

It’s been about seven hours, and he’s well past wanting to throw himself out of the car.  He’s done the math, and he’s pretty sure he’d be either maimed enough to die within a couple hours, or be dead if he managed to get the car up past 120, which is really not that hard because it can push 140 without shaking.

 

It’s about four in the morning, and he’s so exhausted, he’s starting to see spots while he’s driving, but Tony would rather crash from falling asleep than pulling over to purposefully sleep.

 

Every time he blinks, he sees Pepper’s nails scraping across the floor.  What will become of her when he closes his eyes to sleep?

 

He’s decided he’s going to become an insomniac.  He’s done it before, so this shouldn’t be a problem, but driving while exhausted is a lot different than working while exhausted, and he can’t shout at Dum-E to make him a coffee, or even pull over to get one because he’s not sure Dunks is even a thing anymore.

 

He sees a sign for one, and Tony decides fuck it, he’ll make it himself.  A mile later, he takes a food exit, drives for a bit until he finds a Dunkin’ Donuts, and then sits in the car while it idles.

 

“Jay, what’s our best option?”

 

Tony’s forehead thuds against the steering wheel.  He wants to die.

 

Then, he starts talking to himself.  “Jarvis is gone, you moron.  He was not a viable option to carry around in a fucking apocalypse.  Get out there, and figure your shit out.”

 

So, he does.  Tony reaches over into his passenger seat, moves his sweatshirt out of the way to uncover the handgun it’s hiding, and makes a face before lifting it.  He’s never been good at using guns.  He’s trained in handling them, knows how to put one together in under 30 seconds, has good enough aim, and can clean it properly, but using it—that’s always bothered him, and perhaps it’s because he’s been surrounded by bodyguards and his father’s business all his life, but he’s just never been able to wrap his mind around using one himself.  It never seemed necessary.

 

He doesn’t take a steadying breath because that only invites calmness in, and he’s not ready for that, so instead he throws open his door, gun coming out first before the rest of his body follows slowly, carefully.  His eyes travel over the parking lot, keeping a lookout for any sudden movements, and when he’s inside and made some noise to attract anything inside, he finally relaxes a little.

 

He’s alone.

 

Pepper is screaming in the silence.

 

Tony busies himself flipping switches and measuring out his coffee.  He makes it black and violently hot, takes a quick swig so it burns his mouth, burns away the smell of her blood, and then he’s vomiting into the nearest trashcan.

 

Tony’s never wanted another human being to hold onto so badly before, and that hurts in a way he’s not prepared for.

 

“Move along,” he echoes his father, something he’d always said to him to get Tony out from under his feet.  He collects his coffee, pees, and keeps running away.

 

——

 

Bruce has been perched in the tree for at least six minutes, and it’s starting to worry him.  He has no true combat skills, and getting out of this one is going to be tricky.

 

He tries to think of the scare tactics his patients used to put him through, the ones that came in raging and ended up handcuffed to their hospital beds.  He’d always relished in a good challenge, always wanted not to show them defeat but to show them how strong they truly were, to let them curse at the world until their breath was gone, and they were left staring at him through hateful eyes.

 

“Almost done?” he’d always ask while checking their chart.  He never showed enough interest to instigate a fight, and so that always caused one, and the other doctors could never understand why until they realized—his patients were always too tired to fight when he was running his tests later.

 

He doesn’t think scare tactics are going to work now, however, and so Bruce closes his eyes and starts to make a list of his best options until there’s a wild yelp in the distance, and suddenly, his path is being cleared.

 

Bruce waits until the last one has sought the distraction, and then he scrambles down the tree fast enough to give the nearby squirrels a run for their money, and then he starts running.  Immediately, it’s a bad decision, and he should know that by now, but he’s been on his own for a few weeks now, and it’s starting to wear on him.  He hasn’t slept properly since the hospital was invaded, since his most recent patient ripped through her handcuffs and charged him.  He’d had no choice but to jump out of the way, and she’d gone screaming out the window.

 

Bruce ran in high school and college, though less competitively in college because of the massive amount of work he was required to do in his undergrad medical studies, but he’s kept running since he graduated, and for that, he’s grateful.

 

He’s managing a good clip until he’s blindsided, and he ends up thundering toward the ground, head slamming off a nearby rock, his vision swimming and darkening around the edges even as a pair of hands reach down for him, and something in him reaches up and rockets a bullet through the air.  He doesn’t have good aim, but death is pressing in around him, and so he shuts his mouth quickly.

 

He blacks out for a total of two minutes, and then he comes roaring back to life, shoving the body off of him before he scrambles to his feet and checks his surroundings.  He waits until he’s sure he’s alone, for the moment, before he checks the status of his head, and though he’s going to have a wicked headache later, it’s just a dull throbbing of pain for now, and he’s not bleeding, so he counts that as a plus.

 

And then something crunches underfoot, and Bruce is surrounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, HI, HELLO!
> 
> So, this is the beginning of my new project. I’m posting the prologue before I’ve really written a lot. I have the next chapter written, but nothing after that. However, I just purchased the first of _The Walking Dead_ comic books, and the new season is starting soon (not really, but my dad keeps talking about it), and zombies are my favorite monster ever, so I’m really, really excited about this. It’s going to be a ton of fun, but also kind of scary, both because of the zombies and the humans. I hope you enjoyed so far, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

Tony’s been in this car for his entire life, he’s certain.

 

He hasn’t slept in a little over 72 hours, and he’s been in this car for at least 30 of those, he’s positive.  There’s no way he can have been in here for any less than that, and at this point, he might just climb out the window and running screaming into the woods, undead be damned.

 

He starts to ask Jarvis if he thinks the rest of the world will call them zombies, or just stick to being ignorant and call them walkers, but then he remembers, and so he turns to his son instead, but Peter is far away, north with his best friend, Wade, and he doesn’t even know if he’s alive.

 

He starts to panic, and so instead Tony watches the stretches of field on either side of him zip by, blurred by the speed of his car, and he wonders if they’ll still be running in a decade, if buildings will be overrun, if every binge marathon of _The Walking Dead_ will ever do him good.

 

If not, he’s seen _Zombieland_ , and he thinks he could lose his soul along the way.  He thinks picking strings on a bango to instigate an attack from brain-thirsty walkers could be in his future.  He’s not sure he’s ready for that.

 

Tony sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair.  He has to find Bruce, the only person left in the world he feels sure can make it through this.  If anyone, Bruce is going to be alive, he’s going to survive, and damn him, he’s going to help every struggling soul he can along the way, alive, dead, or undead.  Tony hates his unwavering pledge to save as many lives as possible, but it’s saved his own on many occasions, and he knows he wouldn’t be driving into East Overshoe if it weren’t for him, for Peter.  He has to stop assuming that Peter is—Bruce had told him to come north.  He’d sent him a quick, scattered text that left no room for argument, and that’s why Pepper had been yelling when she stormed out of the lab.

 

Tony slams on the breaks, hard enough that his head snaps around and then back against the seat.  He chokes on air, watches the trees spin around him until they come to a jerking stop, and then he leans forward, gasping for breath as his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

 

He’s alone.

 

Pepper is screaming indecipherably in his head, eyes wild and terrified.

 

The car squeals back into drive as Tony drives his foot into the gas, and he leaves the fields behind in favor of a dense forest closing in on him until he’s feeling claustrophobic only because of the thick trunks and not because of his tower of thrashing bodies.

 

It’s never occurred to him before that 72 hours is an absurd length of time to go without sleep, but he’s also never gone that long with only one coffee to keep him going.  Peter had always been underfoot with a new mug in hand every time he’d run out until Pepper started reprimanding him about keeping up daddy’s bad habits.  But Peter’s gone, and they’d run out in the tower because they were already low, and Tony had been forcing himself to regain old habits because fuck if he’d be going outside just for caffeine.

 

He can’t quite explain it, but the trees are stinging into clarity, his gaze focusing in on their leaves and separate trunks, their branches reaching up, up, and away, and then he can’t see anything, and his front bumper is becoming acquainted with one of them.

 

——

 

Tony wakes slowly.  His mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and his body is heavy, weighed down and sluggish.  He lifts his head slowly, groaning immediately even as he lifts a hand to his head.  His fingers come away wet with blood, and he blinks at them, trying to stop them from multiplying.  His ears are ringing, his vision blurry around the edges, and then he looks over to the side and sees that the passenger side window is fogged.

 

There’s a dull thud somewhere to his left, and he brings his head around slowly, wincing, but that window is fogged, as well.

 

Tony blinks a few times to clear his vision, and then he lifts his arm to wipe at the window.  A hand slaps against his own, glass separating them, and Tony jumps.  Two pair of dull eyes come in close, stare at him, and then a wide, unhinged jaw emits a horrible sound before the dead arms start pounding on the window, and Tony doesn’t have control of his body as it scrambles out of his seat and into the passenger side.  His knees buckle in, slam against his chest as he crashes into the other door, but the fear flooding through him doesn’t allow him time to panic before his hand is reaching back and yanking open the handle.  He hits the ground and starts running.

 

Tony doesn’t get far.

 

He’s sent careening toward the ground by a body he doesn’t see, and he barely manages to throw out his hands to catch himself before a pair of hands is latching onto his ankle, and he doesn’t mean to make a sound, but this scared, little cry stumbles out of him before he gets free and staggers to his feet.

 

He can hear them everywhere.

 

They don’t groan or stagger around.  They don’t walk with arms raised or call for his death.  They move quickly, and he doesn’t always hear them coming, and they’re _cold_.

 

He wonders if Peter’s alive or dead.

 

He wonders if he should have stayed and killed Pepper.

 

——

 

He’s never fought like this before.

 

Bruce is terrified, and he’s not sure he’s coming out of this one alive.  It’s a small enough hoard, but there’s more than two, which is as many as he has successfully taken on by himself.  He keeps thinking of where that yelp came from and hoping it’s someone who can help.

 

The first one lunges at him, and he jabs quick, knocking his elbow against its chest to send it sprawling back, face clearing of hair, and it’s a man.  The man staggers, comes back at him with full force, and Bruce shoves a knife in his eye, spins, and smashes the side of his gun against another’s skull.  It slows the next one momentarily, enough time for him to yank his knife out and swing it around to cut across a cheek before he sinks it up into the head.

 

His father taught him how to fight, threw rocks at him to dodge, slapped hands against his body as he blocked and delivered, chased after him with knives until he could duck in and out of his wild arms, but he hates guns.  He dislikes knives, but he understands their necessity.  Guns—they take, take, take.

 

A hand wraps around his ankle, and Bruce points and shoots, shakes when the sound retorts around him.  He’s going to attract them for miles around.

 

“Kennedy, kill!” a voice shouts, and Bruce looks in time to see two men and a dog sprinting toward him.  After that, it’s okay.  He does his best to stand his ground, and he fights with every last ounce of energy he has, even as the two men and dog turn the small hoard into a warzone, show Bruce what they’re truly made of, and then it’s over.

 

Bruce slumps backward against a tree, refusing to close his eyes as he stares around.  He needs to remain alert.  His head aches, and he quickly flicks on the safety, holsters his gun, and lifts a hand to check his temple.  He’s bleeding now, but it’s nothing he’s worried about, and he’s not even sure it’s from the original head wound.

 

He looks around, inspects the newcomers.

 

They’re both tall, broad-shouldered, with the same build and similar enough features that Bruce guesses they’re brothers.  They walk like soldiers, talking in clipped tones as they review the damage, and then the younger of the two softens when their dog, a German shepherd, comes bounding over to them.  He drops to a knee and holds out his hands.  The dog hastens over and remains standing, waiting while the younger brother checks him over for injuries.  The older one turns and glares at Bruce.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing alone out here?” he snaps.

 

It takes a second to sink in, and then Bruce deflates a little against the tree and says, softly, “Not everyone’s got someone.”

 

He reels a little bit from his response, and the younger one says, “Don’t mind him.  He’s just feeling like an ass today because—”

 

Bruce watches him move so fluidly, he’s not sure it was real, but then the younger one’s on his feet, AK trained on his brother.  “You’re bleeding,” he says, his voice pitched low and careful.

 

There’s a terrifying moment that follows where the older one searches himself diligently near the source of the blood, and then he says, “Sharp edge, not teeth or nails.  One of them must’ve had something caught in them or the like.”

 

“Uh huh,” his brother says, staring down the barrel of his gun at him.  Bruce pushes away from the tree and approaches.  “What are you—”

 

“I’m a doctor,” he explains, “My name is Bruce.  Can I have a look?”

 

He pauses at the end, hoping for a name, and the older one says, “Steve.”  He jerks his head toward his brother, “Johnny.  Kennedy,” and again toward the dog.

 

Bruce looks him over quietly, cleans him up, and says, “You’re fine, though your welcome speech could use a little reworking.”

 

“I’m not here to welcome people into the fucking apocalypse,” Steve says clearly as Bruce turns his back on him and walks away.

 

Bruce nods, and throws over his shoulder, “Thank you for the help.  I appreciate it.  Hopefully, I’ll see you again someday under better circumstances.”

 

“What?” Johnny says in bewilderment as Bruce keeps walking, “Wait!  Wait, Bruce, don’t go.”  Bruce stops, turns halfway.  “We need to stick together,” he says quickly even as Steve shakes his head, “We’re better off in numbers.”

 

“We’re more likely to get killed in a hurry that way,” Steve says realistically, and though Bruce knows he’s right, he hates the idea of continuing on alone.

 

“Stop being such a jerk,” Johnny says, not looking at him, “Bruce, we need someone like you, and you need people like us.  You can help us, and we can protect you.”  Bruce faces him, frowning, and Johnny quickly amends, “I’m not saying you can’t protect yourself, but Steve and I have lived our whole lives in the military.  We’re trained to be good at this.”

 

“Mindless killing machines?”

 

“Yes,” Johnny admits, “Which is why we need you.  You’re still thinking about every life you just took, and I don’t even know what gender they were.”

 

“Two males, one girl,” Bruce says to himself, and he can see their faces perfectly.

 

“Stay with us.  I promise Steve isn’t always such a bummer to be around.  Plus, I’m pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.  Right, Kennedy?”

 

Kennedy lets out a short, clipped bark, and Johnny grins, this wide, easy thing that makes Bruce feel at ease.  “Give us a chance,” Johnny pleads.

 

Bruce takes a moment to consider, and then nods.  “Okay.  We should probably keep moving.”

 

He turns back and continues walking, but he’s not far enough to not hear Steve say, “This is a mistake,” under his breath.

 

——

 

Tony is crouched in the darkness, arm pointed straight out in front of him, gun trembling in his hand.  He can hear them, staggering blindly through the trees.  He’s never been so afraid in his life.

 

He takes a deep breath, blows it out loudly, and closes his eyes.  He forces himself to keep his eyes closed, forces himself to listen not to the cracking of branches and the soft moan of the undead, but instead to listen to his breathing, to hone in on himself.

 

Then, he stands.

 

He’s going to be okay.

 

“Shake it off,” Tony whispers before he opens his eyes.  There it is, the dense gathering of trees, the close thicket he’d chosen to hide in, and he can see one, stumbling near him.

 

Tony sets off to the right, moves as quietly and quickly as he can, and he starts to put the sounds behind him.  He thinks they might be following him, might be attracted to his not so quiet and quick movements, but he’s trying, and that’s what he needs to focus on.

 

If he’s not focusing on his footsteps, then he’s thinking about Pepper.

 

“Stop it,” he whispers.  He needs to find Bruce, and then maybe he’ll be allowed to fall apart briefly.

 

He keeps walking much of the night until small wisps of grey sunlight are peeking in through the trees, and then he can see better, so he sets off toward where the trees look thinner, hoping to reach the road and follow it during the daylight.

 

He can hear them more clearly now, when his senses aren’t overwhelmed by the deep, rich darkness of the night, and they don’t sound far enough away that he feels safe.  He leaves stealth behind and hurries through the trees, moving faster and faster until he’s running without meaning to.

 

He needs to get out of here.

 

He’s going to die out here.

 

He needs Bruce.

 

He needs help.

 

He trips, and falls, splaying out on the ground, not quick enough to catch himself, and he ends up covered in mud and leaves, heart thudding painfully into his chest.

 

He sobs, “Pepper.”

 

Tony breaks, can’t stop the oncoming flood as he tries to curl up in the ground, but his foot is still caught in the tree root, and he lets out a sharp, frustrated yell as he yanks his leg toward him.  It finally comes free, and his leg jerks upward, knee jabs him in the stomach, but he just keeps crying.

 

He feels like a child, hiding from his father after a beating, but when he looks over to the side to see if his father is coming, there’s a zombie a few feet from him, running slowly, but getting close.  Tony scrambles upright, starts sprinting, not paying attention and stumbling occasionally, but he remains upright.

 

When he finally sees the road, he sobs with relief and pushes harder, works his legs until he’s finally hitting pavement.  He staggers to a stop, gasps in the open air, and looks around.

 

He stops breathing.

 

His car is sitting a ways down the road, front bumper smashed into a tree.  He’s gone in a circle during the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So this is coming to you on Sunday night for a very particular reason. I’m beginning something I’m very excited about—zombie Sundays! Every Sunday, I’ll be updating this fic, and this will serve two purposes. One, Sundays have been zombie Sundays for me for a long time, and this will only further showcase the badassery that is zombies. Two, it gives me the opportunity to write and stay ahead during the week.
> 
> I will also—provided time and resources—be reviewing a zombie film every Sunday to coincide with the update. Any recommendations you have will be very much appreciated! I am absolutely willing to rewatch films, as well. All reviews will be linked to my Tumblr. Check out this week’s over [here](http://sleeponrooftops.tumblr.com/post/125720978199/world-war-z-2013-united-nations-employee-gerry).
> 
> Come October, it’s going to be even more awesome. I will be pausing on the film front to review each episode of _The Walking Dead_ , so yes, that does mean that updates will come after the episode has already aired. All reviews will be tagged to avoid spoilers, and links will be provided in my author’s note.
> 
> I’m also accepting book and tv show recommendations. I’ve recently picked up the first issue of TWD, so I’ll be starting that soon. I’m excited. Zombies are the absolute _best_ , and I can’t wait to keep writing about them and the Avengers! Speaking of, don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

“We should probably stop soon,” Johnny says, glancing over at his brother, who is walking far ahead of them.

 

“I don’t think he heard you,” Bruce says quietly even as Johnny stops walking.  Kennedy looks between them unsurely, but when Steve keeps walking, he follows.

 

“I don’t think he cares,” Johnny sighs, shrugging off his backpack.  “Steve!” he shouts, and then he’s back to settling in.  He dumps his things on the ground, sticks a knife into his boot, and says, “I’m going to go get firewood.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” Bruce says, looking around, “It will attract them.”

 

“Man, I am fucking starving,” Johnny bemoans, kicking at the ground, “I get the need to ration, but what I wouldn’t give for a Thanksgiving dinner right now.”

 

Bruce groans.  “Green bean casserole.”

 

“Gross,” Johnny gags, “Dark meat turkey and mashed potatoes.  Are you a vegetarian?”

 

“Not by a long shot.”  Bruce sits, stretching out his legs.  “I love fish too much.  Dark meat’s a bit much, though.”

 

“I can’t stand cranberry sauce.”

 

“It tastes fake,” Bruce admits, opening his backpack.  They each nibble on something small while they go over different Thanksgiving foods, and it’s getting dark before Steve finally returns to them, Kennedy trailing behind him.  Bruce looks him over as he’s approaching, and says, “I’ll take first watch.”  Steve frowns and starts to say he will, but Bruce says, “You both look exhausted.  Sleep, and I’ll wake someone in a few hours for their shift.”

 

To his surprise, Steve takes the offer, though Bruce thinks it might be due to the face Johnny makes at him.  Bruce moves over to a tree nearby, puts his back against it, and rests his gun across his thighs as he listens to the sounds of the forest.

 

Johnny waits for Steve to settle, Kennedy between them, and then he sets up camp next to him, making a face when Steve sighs.  “Don’t say it,” Steve says quietly.

 

“How are you feeling?” Johnny asks instead of his usual retort, in an effort to annoy his brother.

 

“I’m _fine_ , Johnny,” Steve says before flipping over onto his other side.

 

Johnny stares at his brother’s back for a few silent moments before he says, “I can’t lose you out here, not like this, not over something we could fix.”

 

Steve turns over again immediately and says, his voice stern but understanding, “Stop thinking about it.  There is nothing we can do, and even if we could, it would only be a temporary solution.”

 

“If we could find a hospital, or a pharmacy—” Johnny begins.

 

“Every father or mother with a wheezing child has already had that thought and is tearing apart those supplies as we speak.  We—”

 

“So, you’re just _not_ going to check?  You’re going to walk past every possibility until—”

 

“Johnny,” Steve says his name like it’s glass shattering around his tongue, and Johnny deflates a little, “It’s going to be okay.”

 

Johnny stares at him for a long moment before he finally says, “I can’t, Steve.”

 

“It’s not going to happen,” Steve assures him.

 

“Asthma is a fickle thing,” Johnny says, and Steve sighs.  Their mother always used to say that when Steve would run from the house without his inhaler, shouting he’d be fine at the beach without it.  Johnny would always worry so much before they even got out of the driveway that Steve would run back in for it until he bought a second inhaler and stashed it in his car just to keep Johnny happy.

 

Now, he watches his little brother look away and close his eyes, one hand tangled in Kennedy’s fur, trying to will sleep on.

 

Steve does the same, and before he knows it, his heavy body is being pelted with something cold and angry.  He wakes because of that, but it’s Bruce’s voice that pulls his heavy body upright, “Well, this’ll be fun.”

 

It’s raining, _hard_.

 

Johnny sleeps right through it at first, for which Steve has always admired him; he can sleep through almost anything.  While their group was usually kept awake by gunfire and the screams of people nearby, Johnny was snoring into the sky.  Kennedy, however, is whining, and Steve scoots closer to him, tries to shield him as best as he can.

 

Steve grabs his hat, quickly pulling it on as Bruce pulls up his hood.  “Did it just start?” Steve asks.

 

“Right before you woke up,” Bruce says, shrugging deeper into his jacket.

 

“Here,” Steve says, pushing to his feet and slowly making his way over to Bruce, “I’ll take watch.”  Kennedy follows him, grateful for the cover of the tree Bruce was sitting directly under.

 

“Thanks,” Bruce says, moving over toward Johnny.  He tries to sleep, curling up on his side, but the rain pelts down on them throughout the night, and when morning finally strikes, they’re all cold and wet and tired.  They start moving as soon as the first rays of light filter in through the trees, and it’s not until a few hours into the day that Bruce finally asks, “So, where is your destination?”

 

It occurs to Steve that they never talked about that, that Steve just told Johnny to run, and they had.  “Uh,” Steve says, and Bruce looks at him with something like confusion wrinkling his brow, “We were just heading north.  We didn’t have anywhere in mind.”

 

Bruce looks surprised.  “What about you?” Johnny asks.

 

“I’ve been helping at a hospital north of Bangor, and there are also some universities nearby.  I thought either might be a good place to hunker down.”

 

“Instead of fighting against them?” Steve asks.

 

“Don’t be prickly,” Bruce says easily, and Johnny snorts, trying to hold back his laughter as Steve opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out.  “I want to try to study their brains, see what kind of chemical makeup this disease has.”

 

“Their brains?” Steve asks, his tone changing.  He shares a glance with Johnny, who shrugs.

 

Bruce catches the look, and he bites back a grin as he says, “Their brains, yes.  Have you noticed yet that headshots are the only ones that seem to kill them?  Or that their symptoms are similar to rabies?  They’re what everyone has always feared.”

 

“Zombies,” Johnny says, grinning.

 

This time, Bruce doesn’t hide his grin.  “Yeah, basically.  Their brains are going to hold the information we need to look for a cure.  You can shoot them all you want, but they’re going to keep rising to fight against you unless we can figure out what is causing their rampant aggression so we can eliminate it, and, in turn, them.”

 

“Zombies,” Johnny clarifies, so Steve punches him in the shoulder, though he’s grinning lightly.

 

“I’m also looking for someone,” Bruce says, a little quieter.

 

“Oh?” Steve says, “A family member?”

 

“My best friend,” Bruce says, not meeting Steve’s inquisitive gaze and instead plunging forward through the forest, “He’s an incredible scientist, and he should be traveling with his wife and son.  Are you looking for anyone?”

 

“Just keeping an eye out for each other,” Steve says, “Johnny and I are usually staying on the same base, and we were lucky enough to be together when everything started to fall apart.  The rest of our group split up, went in whatever direction they thought made the most sense.”

 

“We’re from New York originally,” Johnny says, “But it didn’t seem to make sense to go into the city.”

 

“What part?  I’ve been living at the Tower with Tony in Manhattan for several years.”

 

“Wait, you’re looking for Tony _Stark_?” Johnny says, stopping short, “The engineer?”

 

“The billionaire,” Steve corrects, “Someone who buys their toys and throws them away when they stop being fun.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Johnny says, rolling his eyes, “He’s built every single toy he’s ever thrown away.  That man is a genius.  What I wouldn’t give to be traveling through the zombie apocalypse with that brain.  Huh, I wonder if someone’s level of intelligence effects their descent into madness.”

 

“A worthy study,” Bruce says, ignoring Steve’s earlier comment.

 

As they carry on, Bruce and Johnny continue to discuss their different theories while Steve leads the way, doing his best to figure out what they’re going to do tonight.  They need to either make or find shelter, and soon.

 

——

 

Tony almost cries when he finds the river.  He immediately strips down to his jeans and starts washing the mud off the rest of his clothes.  When he’s done, he sets them out to dry under the high sun, though he can spot some dark, ominous clouds in the distance.

 

“Fucking rain,” Tony mutters before he gets to work washing off his face.  He knows he can’t be washing his clothes every time he gets dirty, but he feels so overwhelmed by everything he’s encountered in the last 72 hours that he needs to find some semblance of clean.

 

After he’s finished, he starts hunting around for a stick he can sharpen.  He hasn’t eaten in a few days, and though he’s used to long days in the lab without people or sustenance, this is different.  Theoretically, he knows how to hunt, but he’s never actually put it to the test, so he feels like this will either be hilarious or pitiful.

 

It occurs to Tony as he’s kneeling in the dirt, sharpening the edge of a makeshift spear, that his son is probably already well fed and kicking back, playing games with his best friend, who is well-versed in wilderness survival.

 

It takes several hours, and the clouds have gotten much closer, but Tony catches a rabbit and his clothes have dried by the time he starts building a fire, which is easier said than done.

 

The clouds have started rolling over by the time Tony throws his sticks to the ground and wraps his arms around his head, burying his head between his knees.  His nails scrape in against the back of his neck, and he just wants this to be over.

 

A branch cracks behind him, and Tony whips around, looks over toward the noise, and finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

 

Steve stares down at the crouched man before him, holding his breath.  He’s dirty and clearly exhausted, and he looks like he’s tripping into the deep end.  The fur on Kennedy’s back stands on end, and he growls angrily.

 

“Johnny,” Steve says, head shifting to the side.

 

Tony watches as someone who is, without a doubt, his brother come out from the trees, approaching with what is unmistakably a machine gun.

 

“Well, that’s a little loud,” Tony says, eyes darting over the gun.

 

“Tony?” a familiar voice says before Bruce steps out of the tree line.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Tony exhales hard, jumping to his feet and scrambling over to Bruce.

 

They embrace tightly, and Tony wants to let go, wants to just crumble in Bruce’s arms, but then Bruce is squeezing him, fingers digging into his back, mouth pressing hot against his cheek in a soft kiss.  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Bruce whispers.  There’s another lingering moment, and then they pull back.  Tony can see it in his face when Bruce starts to look around, and he closes his eyes when Bruce asks, “Where are Pepper and Peter?  Oh god, Tony,” Bruce says, and Tony knows he’s looking at him, can see the way his lower lip is trembling.

 

“Pepper is—she—” and he breaks.

 

It comes out of him like someone’s torn it out of him, stuck their hand down his throat and clawed it out, and though he wants to scream, he knows he shouldn’t.

 

“She’s dead,” he finally says it.

 

It’s real.

 

She’s gone.

 

He’s lost the love of his life, and he doesn’t know if his son is alive or not, if he’s smiling, if he’s scared, if he’s crying into the darkness for his parents, if Wade is by his side, keeping him warm, keeping him safe, and Tony just wants to _know_.

 

Bruce pulls him close again, lets Tony’s knees give out as he sinks to the ground with him.  “Peter’s—Peter’s up north.  He’s with—with Wade.  I think.  Oh god, Bruce, what if he’s— _fuck_.”

 

“He’s not,” Bruce says adamantly, rubbing circles into Tony’s back, “He’s not.  He can’t be.  He’s okay, Tony, he has to be.”

 

“Come on,” Bruce hears Steve say, and he’s surprised to see Steve lead Johnny away toward Tony’s failure at a fire, Kennedy settling at a quick word from Johnny.

 

By the time Bruce manages to calm Tony down, Steve has got a fire going, Johnny’s prepared the rabbit, and they’ve got it skewed over the fire, Kennedy staring at it hungrily.  When it’s cooked and divvied out among them, Steve kicks out the fire and says, “We need to figure out camp.  This is a good space.  It’s close to the water, which is running, so we’ll have something to drink, and it’s close to the trees, where we can take shelter if need be.”

 

“We can chop wood,” Johnny says, nodding toward his backpack, “I found an axe.”

 

“We’ll put branches with leaves over the top, give us a little shelter from the elements.  Just something to be under while we sleep,” Steve says even as Tony starts shaking his head.

 

“We have to keep moving,” he says.

 

“I’m not moving under that,” Steve says, jerking a hand toward the sky, “Plain and simple.”

 

“We should go back to the road, follow that until we can find a car, drive somewhere safe.”

 

“Where?” Steve challenges, shooting Tony a nasty look.

 

“Fuck you,” Tony snaps right back, “Anywhere is safer than here, in the middle of the woods, _especially_ if we can find a car.”

 

“If,” Steve repeats, “If is a lot to hang our lives on.  We’re staying here tonight, and if you want to continue on alone, be my guest.  Right, Bruce?”

 

Bruce looks over at Steve abruptly, trying to figure out when he became co-captain, though he does appreciate Steve’s trust in him.  He looks over at Tony, trying to judge how badly he’s going to take his response, but Tony’s already sinking back into sorrow again, and so he doesn’t react much when Bruce says, “No one’s going on alone, not in this world, but I think it’s a good idea to stay here tonight.  We can find the road tomorrow.  Okay?” he directs to Tony.

 

“Whatever,” Tony says tiredly, “I’m going to bed.”

 

“Of course,” Steve mutters, “I’ll take first watch.”

 

“You’ve been awake longer than me,” Johnny says, “I’ve got it.”

 

“Get some sleep, Johnny.”

 

“Steve—”

 

“It wasn’t a conversation starter.”

 

Johnny looks like he wants to argue, but he just grits his teeth and walks away from Steve, off to set up camp for himself somewhere.  He whistles sharply, and Kennedy trots after him.  Bruce looks between the two for a moment before he sighs and coaxes Tony to lie down.  He curls around him, winding their fingers together, and whispers to him until Tony falls into a fitful sleep, and then Bruce waits until his breathing has slowed before he gets up and goes over to Steve.

 

“What are you—” Steve begins, but stops when Bruce sits next to him.

 

Bruce stretches out his legs, back resting comfortably on the tree.  He sits in quiet for some time, enough that Steve starts to relax next to him, and he doesn’t even realize his entire body has relaxed until he hears how loud Bruce is breathing, and he straightens abruptly, looking over at him.  “How did you know?” he asks like he’s been insulted.

 

Bruce motions toward where the charred remains of the fire sit.  “You tried to avoid it.  It’s the first time I’ve noticed you not take the lead on something.  And then when Johnny got distracted preparing the rabbit, your breathing was irregular.  You started coughing, and that’s when he noticed, told you to go away.  I’m trained to recognize signs, Steve.  Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

“It’s not a secret, it’s—”

 

“A liability, I understand.  We’ll figure it out.”

 

“There’s no—”

 

“Shut up,” Bruce says, and, to his surprise, Steve obeys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is a day late! Last night was our first official meeting for book club, and I got home around midnight after dropping Brittany off, so I just climbed into bed and fell asleep (after reading a little spideypool, of course). But here we are! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

“I spy with my little eye something… purple.”

 

“Bruce’s proud to be a science dad badge.”

 

“I’m not a fucking boy scout.”

 

“I was.”

 

“Of course you were.”

 

“It was from a science convention.”

 

“ _Okay_.  I spy with my little eye something… red.  Huh.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Huh.  Look.”  Johnny points, and there’s definitely a red shirt hanging from a nearby tree.  They’ve been following the road for three days, and they’ve gotten a little better at being around each other, though Steve and Tony still snip at each other on a regular basis.

 

“Careful,” Steve warns, the boy scout.

 

“Yes, mom,” Johnny sighs as he jogs over, “Kennedy, stay.”  It’s too high for him, and Steve is about to call for him to forget it when Tony follows his lead, and Steve just sighs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Stop that,” Bruce reprimands, “Tony’s actually a pretty skilled tree climber.  He spent most of Peter’s childhood trying to get him to come down until he finally just built him a treehouse.”

 

“How old is Peter?” Steve asks the question that’s been annoying him for the past three days.

 

“Nineteen.  He was on a road trip to Canada as a last hoorah before he went back to school.”

 

Sure enough, with a boost from Johnny, Tony starts pulling himself up the tree, and Steve’s vaguely reminded of a drunk squirrel.  Kennedy cocks his head, watching, and Steve smiles, reaching down to scratch behind his ears.  Tony grabs the shirt, throws it down, and scrambles down, mock shrieking when Johnny flings out his arms to catch him, laughing.  Tony leans on Johnny for a second, sees Steve glaring, and steps back, reaching down for the shirt.

 

“Shit,” Tony says, “Not a red shirt.”

 

He flips it over, reveals that it’s grey, and Steve whistles low.  “That sucks for someone.”  Tony looks toward the trees, but it’s Steve that says, “We should try to find them, see if whatever state they’re in can yield any answers.”  This last bit is directed toward Bruce, who nods and reaches out a hand to Tony, taking the shirt.  He looks over the blood loss, and then Johnny’s finding them a trail, and they plunge in.

 

Bruce and Tony go back and forth as they’re walking, bouncing theories off each other so fast that Steve can’t keep up, though Johnny keeps getting distracted just staring in awe at them, Kennedy nudging him occasionally to pay attention, which isn’t really helping, so Steve steps ahead and leads the way, reading the trail.

 

They don’t need it for long.

 

They can hear someone nearby, doing their best to remain quiet through whatever pain they’re in, and they follow the sounds until Steve lifts a hand, and the two chattering scientists fall quiet.  Steve makes a gesture, Johnny drops his machine gun to his side in favor of a rifle, and he takes off to the right, Kennedy at his heels, silent.

 

Steve makes another gesture, and Tony recognizes it immediately, takes Bruce’s hand and pulls him along in the opposite direction.  Steve proceeds forward, watches Tony follow along on his left flank at a distance, and he wonders briefly where his military training is from.  He can recognize a soldier from the little ticks, and though Tony’s certainly not well-bred army brat, there’s something there, something he wants to ask him about later.

 

The victim is about a quarter mile away, and how Steve spotted him, Tony will never understand.  He’s never been adept at using his eyes for anything but circuit boards held close.

 

The man is sitting on the ground, slumped against a tree, his torso naked and his arm bleeding severely from his upper arm.  Steve comes in quietly, waits until Johnny is just behind him, and he starts to move when the man speaks, “AK’s are fucking loud, boy,” and then he flips his right hand back, grabs hold of Johnny’s gun, and grins when Johnny squeezes the trigger, rocketing a bullet through the air and shattering against a tree.  Kennedy hunkers low to the ground, and Johnny starts swearing.

 

Steve comes in wildly, AK trained on him, and he starts to bark an angry remark at him when Bruce asks, “How long since you were bitten?”

 

“Three minutes, maybe.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“I mean, I’m thinking amputation.”

 

“Fuck,” the man says, “At least it’s the left.”

 

Bruce comes forward until the man can see him, tugging Tony along with him.  Tony jerks to a stop and snorts.  The man lets out a small, pained laugh, as well, shaking his head.  “How’s that shrapnel in your chest?” he throws at Tony.

 

“Gone, thank god.  Hurt like a mother.  How’s my fucking knife treating you?”

 

The man yanks a knife from his boot and whips it at Tony, cackles when it sinks into the tree next to him because Tony barely flinches.

 

“ _This_ is Bucky?” Bruce asks, turning on him.

 

“We’ll fight about it later,” Tony says, reaching for the knife, “Ready for some blood loss, jarhead?”

 

“Right on, metal man.”  Bucky pounds his chest and makes a monkey noise, and Tony just pulls the knife free and heads over to him.

 

Steve watches on in amazement.  Tony keeps Bucky distracted, chatters away about something no one can follow, and Bucky reaches for his hand after Tony’s laid his belt between his teeth.  “You’re okay,” Tony says, and then Bruce starts cutting.

 

Bucky tries hard, Steve can see it, and he thinks he would’ve started screaming long before Bucky did, but then there are branches creaking and snapping all around them, and Steve and Johnny are forced to turn their backs on the amputation to fight for their lives, Kennedy pacing behind them.

 

It’s a hoard like Steve hasn’t seen yet.  As soon as they’ve got Bucky’s arm off, Bruce rips out of his backpack and starts searching with shaking hands until Tony takes it from him and finds the lighter easily.  “Sorry, kid,” Tony says, and then he flicks his thumb down, lights Bucky’s shoulder on fire.

 

Bucky _screams_.

 

When they get him to his feet, good arm looped around Tony’s shoulder, he squeezes Bucky’s waist and says, “Lean on the doc, kid, sorry.”  He transfers him to Bruce, grabs the machete strapped around Steve’s thigh, and plunges into the fray.

 

——

 

Tony wonders how many times he won’t be sure they’re going to make it out alive.

 

Bucky passes out not far down the road, and they’re really not that far from the hoard storming after them.  Bruce almost goes under with his sudden dead weight, but Tony jumps in front of them and pushes his heels into the ground, holding Bucky up as Bruce struggles to get a better grip on him.

 

“I hate to be the one to say it, but—”

 

“We have to leave him,” Johnny cuts his brother off as they slow to a stop and a zombie stumbles out of the tree line about a half mile away.

 

“We need a car,” Tony says, “Just—Steve, can you handle them?”

 

“What?”

 

“Johnny, come on.”

 

“Fuckin’ lucky you’re cute,” Johnny says, and Steve looks even more bewildered as Johnny turns and nods.  He turns to Kennedy, kneeling, and whispers quietly to him, pressing his face against Kennedy’s, eyes closing.

 

Tony helps Bruce get Bucky on the ground, leans forward to kiss Bruce softly on the mouth, which really just rocks Steve’s world onto its head, whispers, “Please don’t die on me,” and runs off with Johnny.

 

“Come on,” Steve says, holstering his gun, “Let’s get him to the other side of the road, into the trees.  We’ll hide.”

 

Tony has his machete, so once they find cover, Steve’s left with a knife that he wields carefully, and somehow, it works.  Steve keeps the few wandering zombies at bay, there’s a distant explosion of sound that distracts most of them that sounds distinctly like a machine gun going off, and then, minutes later, Tony’s tearing down the road in a minivan.

 

“Let’s go!” he yells as he throws it into park and Johnny flings open the sliding door and runs over to them.  Steve and Johnny carry Bucky between them, get him into the back row of seats to lay him down, and then they’re off.

 

“Okay,” Steve says, grinning broadly at Tony, “Where’d you find this?”

 

“I thought I recognized the area,” Tony says, looking at him through the rearview mirror, “There’s a highway like—literally around the corner.  This was the closest car with enough gas.  Soccer moms always stock up.”

 

“Are we there yet?” a voice pipes up from the back.

 

“Hey!” they all yell at once, and Bucky groans.

 

“Jesus, how long was I out?”

 

“About a half hour,” Bruce says, climbing back to check on him, “You crashed pretty hard.”

 

Bucky nods, closing his eyes.  “Thanks, doc.”

 

Bruce doesn’t respond but to take his pulse and check for any signs of fever, and then he hands him his canteen, instructs him to drink and rest, and goes back up with Tony.  “Where to?” he asks.

 

“Anywhere but here,” Tony sighs, “I just want to find Peter.”

 

“North, then.  They were heading for Canada.”

 

“Hopefully, they turned around.”

 

Tony tries for a weak smile, but his trembling lower lip won’t quite allow it.  Steve reaches forward a hand and squeezes his shoulder.  “They did.  He’s okay.”  Tony looks back at him, and Steve manages a small, reassuring smile that makes Tony nod, pulls himself together.

 

He doesn’t need to say thank you—Steve’s insides are warm enough without the words.

 

——

 

They take shifts driving.  They stop every once in a while for bathroom breaks and to stretch, but they keep driving down a long, unending road.  It’s different for each of them, and Steve’s starting to think that might have something to do with who they are as people.

 

Tony drives _fast_ , but safe.  He’s trying to get them out of this mess while keeping them alive.  He’s almost always the one to ask if anyone needs to stop every few hours, and he talks quietly to whomever is his passenger at the moment.

 

Bruce is a steady driver.  He points out landmarks along the way, muses about the clouds and the state of agriculture.  He and Tony get in a heated debate about electricity and the fall of technology, which stops when they pass a fallen telephone pole, and Bruce exclaims, “Ah ha!”  He keeps them engaged intellectually.

 

Johnny is quick and reckless.  They don’t let him drive for long, though enough that all of them are starting to fear for the well-being of the car.  He plays zitch dog for a while, and there are a surprising amount of dogs roaming the wilderness.  When that gets boring, he quizzes them on military history, and it doesn’t occur to Steve until later that he’d seen the same signs in Tony and is trying to figure him out.

 

Steve would like to think he’s careful, though he’s sure Tony would argue he’s boring.  He drives a steady 70, and when night falls and the others are asleep, he drums on the steering wheel, Blink 182 and Green Day and Social Distortion.

 

His first night driving, Tony is curled up next to him, and he doesn’t think anything of it until Tony says, quietly, “This can’t be the end.”

 

Steve looks over abruptly, wondering if Tony’s talking in his sleep, and then he shifts and looks over his shoulder, “Don’t stop, you’re just getting to the good part.”

 

“How do you—”

 

“You were humming.”

 

It takes a moment, and a nod from Tony, and then Steve continues, confusion settling in until he hears Tony singing softly, “Tidal waves, they rip right through me.  Tears from eyes worn cold and sad.  Pick me up now, I need you so bad.”

 

He lets the last note hang there for a breath, and then he curls in on himself tighter.  Steve doesn’t want to, but he asks, “Everything okay?”

 

“I just—nothing.”

 

He can hear it in Tony’s voice, though, so he says, “Did Peter used to drum?”

 

“Still does,” Tony says, and then he’s straightening, making a weird motion with his hands, flicking his wrists around.  “He has these hands.”  He shakes his head, and then smiles.  “He idolized Travis Barker.  I know his whole life story because Peter would tell us every little thing he found out.  Travis this and Travis that.  I got him tickets to a Blink concert one time, and I thought he was going to pass out from excitement in line.”

 

“How were they?” Steve finds himself asking.

 

“Awesome,” Tony admits, “Being a Stark has its benefits sometimes, so we had backstage passes, though I didn’t tell him until we were getting ready to leave.  He could barely contain himself.”

 

Tony goes quiet when Steve doesn’t speak again, and he wishes he knew what to say.  He’s always dreamt of a family someday, but it had never seemed like a reality anytime soon, and now here’s Tony, longing for the safety of his son, and he can’t relate with him until Tony says, “I always wanted to have another, a sibling, but Pepper didn’t want more than Peter, ever.”

 

Steve looks back at Johnny, sleeping.  He’s curled up in the back with Kennedy, head pillowed on his side.  He’d been so ecstatic the day his parents had brought him home.  He couldn’t imagine his life without him, now.

 

Steve almost tells a story about that one time they’d lost Johnny in the supermarket, but he knows it’s nothing compared to what Tony’s feeling right now, so instead he says, “We’re running low on gas.  We should take one of these exits.”

 

“This is Maine,” Tony reminds him, and Steve draws a blank for a moment until they pass under a street lamp, still surprisingly lit.  “The roads are winding and dark and treacherous during zombie season, but I agree.  Stay alert.”

 

Steve takes the next exit, Tony peering out of the passenger window.  He glances at him as he’s slowing, pulling onto the curved road.  He thinks Tony might be valuable after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again. Last night was inventory, which I wasn’t supposed to be part of and would have been able to post on time, but then I was told, not asked, to stay, so I got home around one and passed out with Lily and Grace, who were super confused about why they were still awake, and so they slept in until six this morning, which was awesome. I hope you enjoyed, and don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

The gas station is terrifying.

 

They finally reach the end of the exit, and Tony sits up a little straighter, looking around.  As they’re coming to a fork, he says, “Right.”  Steve follows his directions, and they spot the gas station at the same time.  They take the left into it slowly, carefully, looking around.  When Steve pulls up next to the pump, Tony says, “Okay, I’ll get us gas, you keep a lookout.”

 

Steve nods, and they get out at the same time.

 

Steve circles the car first, and then he starts walking around the gas station while Tony gets to work.  He walks past the store a moment too late, and then he hears a hand smash against glass.  He turns abruptly, and there is a zombie staring back at him, slamming his hand and head against the glass, trying to get at Steve.  His sudden movements have caught the attention of the other four people in the store, and they start lumbering over, interested but not invested.

 

Steve’s watching them long enough that Tony’s sharp, “ _Steve_!” shakes him to the core.

 

He jerks around, stares as Tony’s machete comes rocketing out of a zombie’s neck, and then he starts running for him.  There’s another one coming up, and Tony gets her just in time, blade sinking down through the middle of her skull, and he makes this noise that tears the breath out of Steve’s lungs, a hard, broken noise.

 

Tony’s trying to pull the machete free, but it’s sunk too deep, and he’s in danger of another approaching zombie.  Steve reaches him just before the undead does, grabs Tony’s wrist with one hand to pull him away from the blade before he yanks it free with the other hand and drives it into the eye of the last nearby zombie.

 

“We have to go,” he says, looking back at Tony, who quickly shakes his head.

 

Steve gapes at him.  “We don’t have enough gas.  Hang on, I’m almost done.”  He goes back to work, and Steve is momentarily stunned until Tony says, “Pay attention this time,” and then he stands guard.

 

When Tony’s finally done, he attempts to quietly open the back of the minivan, but Johnny stirs and looks back at him.  “Where are we?” he asks, this quiet voice that makes Tony smile.

 

“Getting gas.  Go back to sleep.”

 

Johnny starts to, and then his eyes widen, and he starts to shout Tony’s name, but Steve’s already there, throwing the undead woman to the ground, pinning her there as he says, “Tony, go!”

 

Tony hastens to drop the canisters into the back, winks at Johnny, who rolls his eyes, and then he shuts the door and runs over to the driver side.  He gets into the idling car, and Steve’s up and running when Tony’s door slams shut even as Tony reaches over to push open the passenger door.  Steve jumps in, and Tony speeds away.

 

They’ve been driving for only about three minutes before Steve lets out a shaky laugh, and Johnny joins him from the back even as he starts settling again, soothing Kennedy, who’s whining softly.  Steve listens to him whisper quietly to Kennedy until they both drift off, and then he looks over at Tony.  “That was pretty awesome,” he says.

 

Tony shakes his head, and Steve expects a grin, but his face is drawn, something like fear pulling his eyebrows tight together.  “What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

 

“I can’t stop thinking about Peter,” Tony admits, and though Steve knows that’s been on his mind, he’d almost forgotten about it in the heat of things.  He can’t imagine what it must be like, constantly thinking of someone so important to you while still trying to survive.

 

“Do you think his friend will help keep him alive?”

 

Tony nods fervently.  “Wade’s a trained survivalist.  He’s been teaching Peter over the years, and I know they’re okay, but I just—I can’t help it.”  Steve nods, though he doesn’t know what to say in response.  Tony saves him from an awkward silence, however, by shrugging and saying, “Where to next?”

 

And so they keep driving.

 

——

 

Johnny’s the one that finds it.

 

They’re all exhausted enough that they let him drive through the next night, and it’s just coming on dawn when he starts making noise, banging on the steering wheel and laughing loudly.  Bruce looks up from his book, and he breaks out into a grin, reaching over to shake Tony awake as Kennedy starts barking.

 

They’re all buzzing with excitement when Johnny throws the minivan into park and jumps out, arms stretching wide.  “We are sleeping in beds tonight!” he yells before he starts heading for the small house.

 

“Johnny,” Steve snaps, and his brother stops, Kennedy continuing past him.

 

“What?” Johnny says when Steve doesn’t continue.

 

Kennedy answers for Steve when his fur stands up on end and a low growl fills the silence.  Johnny turns, and comes face to face with an angry expression.  “Oh,” Johnny says quietly, “Hey.”

 

“Four!” the man facing off with Johnny calls out.

 

A young woman comes out from around the side of the house, a wicked looking gun trained on them.  She approaches slowly, but stops by the front of the house, holding her position.  When Tony takes a step forward, her gaze snaps to him, and Bruce reaches for him from behind, squeezing Tony’s hand when Tony reaches back.

 

“How many of you are there, just four?” the man barks, staring hard at each of them.

 

“Five,” Steve answers, “One of us was hurt.”

 

The man jerks his head, says, “Let’s see,” and Bucky climbs out of the minivan.

 

The woman steps forward, sneering, her finger pressuring the trigger, and Steve’s handgun is unholstered and pointed at her so fast, they barely see it happen.  “Back the fuck up,” Steve says, flicking his left hand to the side.  Johnny lifts his own sidearm, trains it on the man.

 

The man lifts a nasty looking knife from behind him, and Bruce makes an aggravated noise before he steps forward, still holding Tony’s hand, and says, “I’m sure there’s a better way we can do this.”

 

He’s barely got the words out before he’s being shot.

 

The bullet misses him by millimeters, Tony yanking him close even as he jerks to the side, colliding with Steve.  The bullet grazes Bruce’s arm, pulls a yelp from him, and Kennedy’s growl pitches into something violent and angry.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Tony shouts, and then everyone’s yelling, fingers teetering dangerously close to trigger happy.

 

Steve is the one that finally settles it, stepping in the middle, gun raised in the air, and everyone falls silent, gaze trained on him.  “Okay,” he says, looking at the man and woman, “Clearly, we’ve all started off on the wrong foot.  I’m sorry my brother stepped onto your property carelessly.  We were just looking for somewhere to rest and recuperate before we continued on our journey.”

 

There’s a long silence that follows, one in which the man looks at the woman, and their wordless conversation ends in her lowering her weapon.  “My sister is sorry for shooting at you,” he says, his accent thick, “You may stay here for the night.”

 

Steve looks like he’s ready to decline the offer when Bruce says, “Steve, we need this,” and so he nods.

 

“Thank you,” Steve says.

 

“Pietro,” the man introduces before gesturing to his sister, “And Wanda.  Come.”

 

The twins walk away, and it takes a long, hard second before Steve starts forward, nodding in Johnny’s direction.  Johnny holsters his sidearm, and follows his brother warily.  Bucky stomps past Tony and Bruce, who remain behind, unsure.

 

“I don’t like this,” Tony whispers.

 

“I know,” Bruce says, squeezing his hand and stepping in close to him so that their bodies are touching, “But we need a moment.”

 

“We have to keep moving.”  Tony meets Steve’s eyes from where he’s standing by the front door.  Steve nods, and Tony shakes his head, but he pulls Bruce forward nonetheless.

 

“We can’t get complacent,” Tony says as he passes Steve.

 

“No, we can’t,” Steve agrees, “But we can rest for tonight.  Come, Kennedy.”

 

Kennedy comes reluctantly, and Steve is the last one to enter the house.

 

——

 

Johnny’s not sure how it happens, but he and Steve end up sharing a room with Tony and Bruce.  Bucky seems to hit it off immediately with Pietro and Wanda, and so they’re up late into the night talking.  When Steve finally beckons Johnny inside, declaring their watch over if Pietro, Bucky, and Wanda aren’t going to retire, there’s nowhere left but the spare bedroom, where Wanda’s thrown some blankets in for them to make up beds on the floor.

 

Johnny expects the bed to be taken when they walk in, but Tony’s on the floor, back resting against the bed, Bruce in his lap.  He’s slowly carding his fingers through Bruce’s hair while Bruce reads aloud to him, and it makes Johnny smile.

 

“We were thinking of tucking in early,” Steve says.

 

Tony nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “We should make an early start.”

 

“Where to next?” Steve asks.

 

Tony shrugs.  “Just keep driving, try to find somewhere empty where we can settle temporarily, figure shit out.”

 

Steve looks over at Johnny, who nods his assent before he dumps onto the bed, Kennedy jumping up after him.  “Oh _shit_ ,” Johnny groans into the pillow, and Steve laughs.

 

“We’re fine down here,” Tony says even as Bruce stretches and lays out on his side of the bed on the floor.

 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks.

  
“He’s sure,” Johnny says, his voice muffled.

 

And so they all settle in, drifting off until Johnny can hear the steady, slow rhythm of his brother’s breathing, and he starts to let his own mind shut down when Tony whispers, “Are you awake?”

 

When Bruce doesn’t respond, Johnny does, “Me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Am now.  What’s up?”

 

Tony’s silent for a few long moments before he says, “I think we should leave Bucky here.”

 

“Why are you telling me?”

 

“Because you’re more of a human than your brother, and I know you’ll actually think about it, whereas he would just jump to saying yes.”

 

“I mean,” Johnny pauses, weighing the options, “It makes sense.  He seems to have clicked with them, and he’ll have time to rest and recuperate.  What do you mean by leave, though?  Hit the road before they know we’ve gone?”

 

Tony shifts until he can see Johnny through the darkness.  He looks warm and inviting, his head resting against the edge of the bed, looking down at Tony, and it flares a hard wanting in Tony that Pepper had only ever dulled.  He loved his wife more than the world, but he’d always had an affinity for men, and she’d given him his little flings with Bruce here and there, but Johnny is something new—something that threatens to light a voracious fire.

 

“I don’t trust Bucky,” Tony finally says out loud, “I never have.”

 

Johnny nods slowly, and it’s some time before he says, “How should we do this?”

 

“In a few hours,” Tony says, “I’ll wake you.”

 

“Okay,” Johnny says, shifting back onto the bed.  Stillness settles around them until Johnny’s drifting dangerously close to sleep, and then he whispers, “Hey, Tony.”  Tony grunts.  “Got any kindling?”

 

Tony buries his laugh in his pillow, though Johnny just grins and turns onto his side.  Tony’s easy to read, not quite an open book, but his heart is far from tucked away, and Johnny knows how to play this game.  He falls asleep to the quiet sound of Tony’s laughter, and then he’s out like a light.

 

——

 

Bruce feels like he’s only been asleep a few hours when Tony’s mouth presses warmly to his jaw.  He makes a soft, agreeable noise, and smiles sleepily when Tony’s legs untangle and slide around him, settling on either side of him.  “Tony,” he whispers.

 

“We’re gonna leave before dawn,” Tony mumbles against his shoulder, pulling down the hem of his shirt to kiss at the skin there.

 

“Why?”  Tony rocks slowly against him, not enough friction to get Bruce riled up, but enough that he’s interested in where this is going.

 

“You know how I feel about Bucky,” he whispers, making a trail up to his ear and biting softly.  Bruce sighs, hands coming up to rub lightly against his thighs.

 

Bruce tries to swallow the words down, but they still tumble out of him, “Have you been thinking about Pepper?”  Tony staggers to a halt, exhaling hard against Bruce’s ear.  He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move.  “Tony, it’s okay to miss her.”

 

“I don’t want to,” he whispers, “I just—I can’t think about her and keep going.  I want to curl up and die when I see her face, screaming for me, her body being— _fuck_ , Bruce.  I can’t do this.”

 

He sits upright suddenly, hands scrubbing angrily over his face, and Bruce frowns, watching him, trying desperately to think of any way that he can help him.  He doesn’t know how to in this world, though, doesn’t know how to take Tony’s sadness and carry it as his own.

 

He thinks about her, what she would have said to Tony, what she would have made him do to get him through this, and he can’t help but smile—she would have told him to get laid, to find love and cure his crumbling heart.  She’d always been so understanding of Tony’s attraction to Bruce, had even encouraged it, and Bruce thinks sometimes that she knew she couldn’t tame him for herself only, knew that their relationship was healthier if Tony was dining luxuriously.  He hates to think of himself like that, as Tony’s dessert, the meal he couldn’t have but desired, but he’d always known, every time Tony had shown up on his floor or dragged him into R&D, that Tony was trying to escape his own skin.

 

“Your hands aren’t busy enough,” Bruce murmurs, and Tony nods, dropping his hands and revealing his dirty face, “We’ll find somewhere to stop soon, and you’ll tinker with the van until it’s badass, or even find something else to build, and we’ll be okay.  We’re going to be okay, Tony.”

 

“I know.”

 

“When do you want to leave?”

 

“Now,” Tony sighs, looking at his watch, “I’ll wake Johnny.”

 

And so it goes.  They steal out into the night, pack the van, and together, the four of them push it far enough away that they’ll still likely hear it start, but the darkness will conceal them.  Kennedy gives a resounding howl as they’re driving off, and the night consumes them.


	6. Chapter 6

They make it to a main highway that isn’t impossible to traverse, though it’s slow going.  Tony gets so frustrated that he throws the car in park before they’re even fully stopped—and really, they’ve only been winding through the cars for about three minutes—and demands that someone else drive.  Bruce switches with him, and it’s a little less aggravating being in the passenger seat, though not totally.

 

Bruce can see him going out of his mind, but he’s so far trapped in his own that he knows trying to pull Tony out will do more damage than good, so he keeps his mouth shut and just drives.

 

It’s so hot in the car, he feels like he’s back in Colombo, running from himself.

 

Before he met Tony, he was always running.

 

Bruce looks over at Tony, finds him pressing his forehead angrily against the window, sees the angry red marks he’s digging into his arms.  He checks the rearview mirror, finds something even more startling—Steve is breathing with difficultly, Johnny running his fingers in circles over his arm.  Kennedy is curled up in one of the bucket seats, watching them warily.

 

Bruce looks ahead.  There’s sweat rolling down from his hairline, staining his vision with salt, and he wants to scream.

 

There are bodies pressing in on him, too hot and too close, screaming for his help, and then one of his patients is charging him, her hair a matted, wild mess, and he can’t remember removing her cuffs.  She lets out this roar from deep in her throat, comes at him with uninhibited fury in her eyes, teeth slamming together as she tries to bite, and he can’t do anything but pivot and throw her.

 

Her body sails through the window, and then the screams really begin.

 

Bruce slams on the breaks at the same time Johnny says, “Can we pull over, please?”

 

Bruce needs out.  He throws the car in park and tumbles out of the car, shaking all over.  He walks away from the car, throwing his arms up to link his hands behind his head, trying to ground himself.  He focuses on his feet over the hard ground, rubble and debris scattered around him from the war they’re not sure how to fight.

 

He can’t find his breaths, can’t control them, and he feels like Tony, staggering blindly through a world of panic.

 

They separate.

 

Bruce knows it’s probably their worst idea yet, but they pull away from each other, desperate to find their own strength.

 

——

 

Tony stops running when he can’t see the van anymore.  It’s really not that hard, with the mess of cars around them, but it’s less crowded than most of the highways they’ve been avoiding, and so it takes some time before he can look back and find himself alone.

 

And then, he takes a deep breath and looks around.  His hands need to be busy, need to stop idling in between nightmares of choking the life from Pepper so she won’t turn and finding them bloody from Peter’s limp body.  He needs to stop thinking.

 

He almost trips over his distraction.

 

It’s lying on its side, and Tony jerks to a stumble as his foot catches on the kickstand.  He looks around, and a grin infects his face, pulling the corners of his mouth up quickly as he straightens and gives the motorcycle an overall glance.  This is what he needs.

 

He pulls it upright, settling it against a car when the kickstand won’t hold, and then he sits beside it, setting to work on fixing the kickstand first.  He gets his hands dirty, pulling tools from his backpack.  Pepper had always bemoaned his demand to always have a small toolkit on hand, though it had saved them a couple times, and it’s going to save his mind now.

 

He pulls it apart as best as he can with what limited tools he has, and he checks on the engine after he’s worked on whatever else he can get his hands on.  As he digs in a little, he spots a small, crumpled piece of paper, and he frowns, reaching in, swearing when he scrapes his hand.  He yanks it out, shakes his hand once, sending droplets of blood spraying over the asphalt.

 

Tony unfolds the paper and stops breathing.

 

 _See you in the winter_.

 

Peter went as far as he dared to university, packed up his bags and took to the mountains, found somewhere at the end of a road called the Devil’s Intestines, convinced Wade to get an apartment on campus, and settled in.  Pepper hated being far from him, but it tore Tony’s gut into pieces every time Peter would hug him goodbye for the semester and whisper, “See you in the winter.”

 

Tony crashes to the ground, balance dropping away as he slides backward, arms coming out on either side, feet skidding across pavement until they rest against the motorcycle, and he lies there, in the middle of the road, beaming at the sky as tears roll freely down his face.

 

He lifts a thumb at the rumbling of an idling engine, and Bruce calls out, “Need a ride, idiot?”

 

——

 

Johnny pushes Steve out of the van, shoves him hard enough that he hits the ground with a groan.  Steve starts to push himself upright, arms trembling a little as his shoulders bunch up and threaten to crack together, push him back down until he can’t rise anymore.

 

“Come on, up you go,” Johnny says, hauling Steve up and back so that he thuds on his ass, head tumbling into the side of the van.  Johnny tries to sit in front of him, but Steve grabs at him, hauls Johnny close, and Johnny sighs, letting Steve wind his arms around him.

 

Sometimes, when it’s bad, Steve just needs to hold on.

 

He clings to Johnny as his little brother breathes, loud and clear.  Kennedy curls up beside them, wedging his head between Johnny’s knee and Steve’s thigh, shifting closer to Steve when he threads a hand through his fur.

 

Johnny feels like a child again when he closes his eyes, curled up in whatever awkward position Steve dragged him down into, knees bent at odd angles, elbows shoved away to avoid jabbing him in the ribs, ear pressed firmly against Steve’s chest as he listened to his breath.  He feels like he’s four, and Steve’s nine, shaking apart as his breath trips out of his body and refuses to find its way back in.

 

“Johnny,” Steve whispers.

 

Johnny tangles their fingers together, holds it against his cheek as Steve tries desperately to hold onto his body, refuses to let it shake apart.  “You’re okay, big brother,” Johnny says, and it’s the only thing he dares say.  If he doesn’t keep breathing, he’s terrified Steve is going to forget how, so he just keeps breathing, like their old yoga teacher used to.  Steve only went to one class, decided it wasn’t for him, but Johnny had been so fascinated by what she could do with her body that he kept going back.  Steve teased him, said he was just trying to get in her pants, but he barely looked at her during class, and he never noticed the beauty Steve did until she told him to stop closing his eyes when she was teaching him how to meditate, and then, when he saw her beauty, it was an otherworldly aura that captivated him, and Steve laughed even harder.

 

He was never one for the mystical, and he still isn’t, but he’d admired her, and he puts her techniques to use now.

 

Steve breaks, “I can’t _breathe_.”

 

“Yes, you can,” Johnny says, pressing harder against Steve, banging his free hand against his chest, “Yes, you can.  I refuse to let you go.”

 

“Johnny,” he sobs.

 

“Don’t you dare give up.  Fucking _fight_.”

 

“Johnny,” his name splits in half on Steve’s tongue, and Johnny presses harder, angrily, forcing a breath out of Steve.  He hits his chest harder.

 

“Yes, you can!” he shouts, and Steve sucks in a terrible breath.  Johnny doesn’t relent, forces Steve to hold onto him tighter until he’s finally finding control.

 

And then, “You’re fucking heavy.”

 

Johnny untangles.  He throws a crooked grin over his shoulder at Steve, and then he sits across from him.  “You good?”

 

Steve lets his head thud back against the van, but he nods.  “It was so hot in there.”

 

Johnny looks around.  “Where are Bruce and Tony?”

 

“Bruce was losing it,” Steve says, leaning down to bury his face in Kennedy’s fur before he pushes to his feet, “Tony started running.”

 

And so, they go searching.  They find Bruce away from the highway, through a small thicket of trees, and kneeling by a river.  His hair is dripping onto his dry shoulders, and though his body jerks a little with each breath, they’re not what Steve imagines they were—not unlike his asthmatic breaths, but panic stricken gasps, great gulps that go nowhere.

 

Steve lingers some feet away, doesn’t want to let his body catch the flow of Bruce’s breaths, and so Johnny goes to him, squats next to Bruce and whispers quietly to him.  After a few moments, Bruce nods and allows Johnny to help him to his feet.

 

Steve hears Johnny tell him to pull it together, a little harshly, but it’s what Johnny would say to him, and it makes him smile.  When they turn back, Steve walks ahead of them, letting Johnny linger behind with Bruce.  By the time they make it back to the van, Steve is surprised to find that Tony hasn’t returned.

 

They pile back into the van and set out in search for him, and Johnny snorts when he pulls to a stop, letting the engine idle as Bruce smirks and leans out the window, calling down to the figure lying in the middle of the road, “Need a ride, idiot?”

 

Tony lowers his thumb and flips over deftly onto his front, getting to his feet.  He jogs over to the passenger window, thrumming with energy, and Bruce quirks an eyebrow when Tony hands him a piece of paper.  He’s barely read the first word when Tony lets out a wild yell, turning away from the van and heading back for his previous spot.

 

“Peter,” Bruce says sharply, gaze snapping up to Tony.  He clambers out of the car, and Johnny looks back at his brother in surprise before he parks the van and gets out after them.  “He’s alive,” Bruce says, brandishing the paper at Tony.

 

“He’s fuckin’ alive,” Tony agrees, grinning so wide it hurts a little, “Also, I’m a badass.”

 

He steps aside to reveal the motorcycle, and Steve just about melts.  “Oh, come on,” Johnny groans, whining as Steve approaches it.

 

“I’m not much of a biker myself,” Tony says, “But—yeah, okay,” he adds as Steve swings a leg over it and turns the key sticking out of the ignition.  It turns over a few times and then rumbles to life, and Steve just about kisses Tony.  This is a win.

 

They spend some time dicking about with the bike, and then they’re decided.  Steve’s taking the first go, and so he checks the fuel tank, claps hands with Tony, and takes off ahead of them, winding his way through the cars with enough enthusiasm that Johnny doesn’t even care when he gets back behind the wheel of the van.  “Now we just need a jeep,” he says, and that sets Tony off on how dumb a jeep would be in this particular apocalypse.

 

Bruce concedes the argument, “We need a Fit.”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Tony says, and it surprises Bruce, which just turns into another debate, which Johnny is eager to jump in on.

 

——

 

She watches them shatter apart, wonders what kind of rag tag group is headed their way.  She’s been keeping an eye on this particular stretch of highway ever since the two idiots drove a hoard through it, cackling and dancing their way around him, one wielding a pair of katanas and the other swinging a bat with nails sticking out of it, knives sticking out of his boots and elbows as he’d twisted his way around his friend.

 

She knows how long that motorcycle has been sitting there, knows how long it’s been since the two idiots were killing their way through boredom by endangering her quiet life, and she wonders if these four will end up on her doorstep, too.

 

She’d let the idiots stay until the one with the katanas had healed from a nasty wound to the ribs, but that had been weeks ago.  She doubts they’re anywhere close for this rag tag band to find them in a hurry.  She thinks the one that had found the note is probably the father the younger one had talked so highly of.  They hadn’t exchanged names, hadn’t found it necessary, and all she knows about them are their skills.

 

She turns, finds her best friend standing at her elbow.  “Think they’ll come our way?” he asks.

 

“They always do,” she says, and walks away.

 

He stays long after her, thinking of the last group that had come their way, after the two men, of the graves in their backyard.  He wonders if it’ll be the same this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, shit’s about to go down on _Fear the Walking Dead_ , and I am so here for it. I don’t have the next chapter written, so I’m going to try to do a lot of writing tomorrow after yoga and shopping. Almost none of my clothes fit, and I’m sick of walking around holding my pants up, so I have to go out and get new clothes, I’m going nuts. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


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